if the heavens spoke
by nubivagant
Summary: "I didn't want to fall in love, not at all. But at some point you smiled, and, holy shit, I blew it." derek hale/oc


**Author's Note:** so this is sort of like four vignettes mashed together. parts three and four seem a bit disconnected from one and two to me so if you have any comments to help that, it'd be great. i really like derek's character and his development over the seasons have been pretty amazing to watch and analyze. _disclaimer:_ i don't own teen wolf at all.

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><p>i. When he was younger, he could imagine his future life. Not in the sappy way where he gushed over the perfect girl in a completely goofy grin but in the quiet time where his thoughts flew from him and manifested scenarios of what-ifs, he could see a future life—a possibility.<p>

Now, jaded and torn, that possibility had all but vanished. He couldn't entertain what-ifs and maybes anymore than he could smile with his whole heart in complete happiness. The weight of ashes and screams were so heavy that it felt like constant drowning, his lungs breathing what it needed to survive and no more.

So imagine his surprise when his heart gave a little flutter when you passed him by, your scent tickling his nose and your eyes over passing him as if he were a Nothing. It took him back to his younger years and what felt like a lifetime ago, a different life where he could smile with arrogance and chase skirts and not be so singularly consumed by the cold fires of revenge.

In that one moment he almost entertained the idea of talking to you, make you see him, as his feet slowed and his body half-turned towards your fleeting form. But something like wisps of shrieks and broken homes pulled him back into the reality of his situation and he abandoned that what-if.

It becomes easier in time to become a thing that can't be loved.

ii. He saw you again, in a way that tugged at his heart, at the vestiges of himself that couldn't be reasoned with.

It was at some local diner that held only one bathroom and your crying body half curled into itself to stifle the sounds you didn't want heard. Instead of ordering food, he impulsively crouched near the door and knocked gently.

The stupidest decision he ever made, he mentally berated himself. He was an emotionally stunted werewolf. What could he offer to you except the emptiness he carried in his bones, the distrust entangled in his veins?

"I'm sorry but its occupied," you said, followed by a sniffle. He hesitates to say anything, actually demanding himself to move away, run away, idiot.

"A-are you okay?" he replies cautiously. Silence hung between the both of you, aching settles into his thighs for being in such a position but he's stuck. He's stuck in this moment and his body refused to get out of it. If his sister were still alive, he could see her urging him to be the gentleman, that white knight.

The door cracks open an inch and he could see your eyes looking at him, curiously with a hint of suspicion. He could see dried tear tracks and your face barely holding any form of composure as the corners of your mouth keep twitching downwards. Your eyes screamed '_I'm not okay'_ and he felt the awkwardness of such an honest feeling coming off you.

"I've just been really stressed lately," you confessed, taking in a deep breath. You wipe away at your cheeks, trying to remove the evidence of your struggle and he feels that flutter again in his chest and wonders if you're like him. "And that stress has led me to cry in a diner bathroom and talking to a stranger."

His eyebrows furrow because the word stranger didn't seem fitting. You give him a short burst of laughter before amending your statement, "Albeit, a _kind _stranger. Thanks for checking on me, I guess."

Words were caught in his throat. The fluttering turned into a ridiculous hammering against his ribcage. A hand in front of his face was a welcomed distraction. You smiled, somewhat tiredly, and said your name.

"What should I call you stranger?"

Standing up, he took your hand and helped you up. "My name is Derek."

iii. Here you hold his head in your lap, threading fingers through hair and he cries silent rivers that flow through you. The salt of him leaves impressionable scars in your body and you feel a different kind of wholeness you've never known before.

It's a holy revelation _-two have become one_- and the urge comes to kiss his lips, sadness and brokenness and all so you do. He responds slowly at first and then with fierce abandon. His hands bring your face closer to his and your breaths come in sharp gasps as he nips at your ears, the base of your throat and collarbone none too gently. Your heart is sighing hallelujah and you've never felt as complete as this. At last you have found your other half and you could roam the wilds and brave cold bitter nights under full moons, howling for your love, with your love, and only for your love. Lord, let me never feel the sting of loneliness again, you pray between heated touches. His fingertips scorch your skin with the fire of life and it feels like rebirth.

iv. You're wearing his shirt, lounging his couch, eating a bowl of cereal. He's in the kitchen, sitting beside the smooth marble top island and you're smiling at the tv. What fresh hell is this, he mulls overs, eyes brooding in the signature Hale way, that the sight of a smile would create a natural disaster in his chest. Not even directed towards him but everything about you is encapsulated in his scent, has been explored by his fingers and you let me burrow inside and make a home in you. The mug of coffee in his hands burns against his touch but your smile lights fires in his soul and he can hope in a daring way that you felt at home too, right now with his shirt on, on his couch eating cereal. Because you're smiling at him, eyes crinkled and teeth showing and he feels himself blown away by the sight of you. He smiles to himself and it's a light feeling that makes him feel as if he ran miles at breakneck speed; absolutely breathless. His chin dips to his chest and back up and you pat the empty side beside you for him to sit beside you. He doesn't mind this type of domesticity after all the blood and death and sadness he's seen. Being next to you, he feels like he's mending and it's not perfect but the future is full of possibility as long as you stay and smile at him as you do, leaving him with the feeling of being able to fly.


End file.
